


How to prepare Christmas with your house spirit

by Lesatha



Series: A guide to living with a house spirit [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, House Spirit Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 17:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13171617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: Werewolf Derek and house spirit Stiles get ready for their first Christmas.





	How to prepare Christmas with your house spirit

**Author's Note:**

> A (slightly late) Christmas fic! It is part of a series, but you don't need to read the first fic to understand this one. The main thing you need to know is that Stiles is a Domowoj (a small Polish house spirit) Derek met in another house and they just moved back into the Hale house.

Derek stretched and blinked in the morning light. He moved his hand to his neck, expecting to find Stiles curled there. His fingers only met his own skin. He rubbed his eyes, turning his head to check the pillow. No sign of the tiny house spirit. Derek frowned and pushed the covers back, even though he knew Stiles wasn’t sleeping there either.

It wasn’t like Stiles to get up early. He slept as long as Derek did, although that was often still a bit early for him. Every time Derek told him to stay in bed and every time Stiles shook his head, yawning. Then Derek would put on his woolen shirt and slip Stiles into the chest pocket. Stiles usually slept there during Derek’s breakfast, sometimes a bit longer, his soft snoring a welcome noise in the otherwise quiet house.

Yet this morning, for some reason, Stiles was gone. Maybe he wanted to test the paints for one of the rooms –he had been quite adamant about it a few days ago.

Derek sat up and that’s when an unusual smell hit him. Fresh and strong at the same time. It reminded him of long runs in the woods, of his feet digging into the ground. In fact, he knew that smell. Fir tree.

“Stiles?” he called, swinging his legs off the bed.

Downstairs, glass shattered on the wooden floor. Derek dashed out of the bedroom, quickly putting on the shirt he had picked up. Different scenarios popped up in his mind, none of them pleasing.

He never expected to find a fir tree in the living room, a tinsel partially wrapped around it and Stiles, entangled in said tinsel, swinging left and right. A golden ball, or what used to be a ball, lied in pieces in front of the fir tree.

“You’re up,” Stiles said, disappointment obvious in his voice. “I knew I started too late.”

Derek laughed as he freed him from the tinsel. Stiles sat in the werewolf’s palm, his mouth set in a tight smile.

“I wanted to surprise you,” he muttered.

“So you got a fir tree from the woods and smuggled it inside the house without waking me.” Derek grinned and brought his hand closer to his face. “I know I should be surprised, but coming from you…”

“Right?” the Domowoj chirped, smile wide.

He tiptoed on Derek’s palm and leant on the werewolf’s face to kiss the bridge of his nose, the touch of his lips barely noticeable.

“Did you get the ornaments in the woods too?” Derek joked.

“I asked Peter to get some for me. I know we’re far from having repaired the house, but I thought it might feel a little more like home for you with, you know…”

Stiles gestured to the Christmas tree. His face suddenly fell.

“You like Christmas, right? Peter didn’t say anything but he’s an ass sometimes, please tell me I didn’t mess up.”

Derek gently rubbed his nose against Stiles, who still leant on it.

“You didn’t mess up. In fact, I could have a surprise for you too.”

 

*

 

Derek left soon after they finished hanging all the ornaments on the Christmas tree and now Stiles wandered from room to room, unable to focus on anything. Derek and him worked on the house every day and still had a lot of work ahead, but at the moment, nothing could hold Stiles’ attention for more than a few minutes.

What was Derek’s surprise? Stiles had attempted to pry some clues out of him but had only earned a mysterious smile.

Sighing, Stiles went back to admiring their Christmas tree. It was his first one since a very long time, and Derek’s too, from what Peter had told him. It brightened the whole room, though it looked a bit lonely. Maybe for their next Christmas they would get more stuff.

Stiles’ gaze fell on one of his sleeping boxes –his favorite, the first one Derek had made for him. He had never retrieved the fluffy scarf Stiles had slipped in there, stealing it from the werewolf’s closet. Smiling at the memory, Stiles grabbed the box and pulled it under the fir tree. He crawled inside through the round opening and lied down, throwing the edge of the scarf over himself, eyes trained on the front door. He was ready.

 

*

 

“I warn you, nephew, if you add one more box,” Peter groaned, huffing as Derek added another to the pile he already carried, almost reaching eye level, “I won’t be held responsible for stepping on the little despot that is your house spirit.”

Derek ignored him but still entered the house first, quickly scanning the floor. Stiles was nowhere to be seen –or so Derek thought until he spotted the wooden box under the Christmas tree.

“Stiles,” he called, letting the fondness fill his voice, “I’m back.”

He stepped aside to let his uncle in at the same time Stiles peered out of the box, bleary-eyed. The Domowoj’s stare went from unfocused to razor-sharp in a split second. Peter smirked, setting the boxes down.

“Derek, you got my Christmas gift early,” Peter drawled. “How nice of you, he’s such a likeable little creature.”

“Please don’t tell me _he_ ’s the surprise,” Stiles deadpanned.

Derek fought the urge to roll his eyes as he put his bags next to the fir tree.

“You two would be terrible actors. I know you’re civil with each other when I’m not around.”

“Stiles became civil the day he made me his valet,” Peter replied, crouching next to Stiles’ box and offering him his palm. “Isn’t that right?”

“A _valet_ ,” Stiles sighed. “How dramatic.”

He stepped into the offered hand, put his fists on his hips and turned to Derek. Peter and the house spirit stared at him, so still they seemed frozen.

“We’re being civil with each other,” Peter explained when Derek quirked an eyebrow. “How do we look?”

“Very spontaneous.”

“Hey,” Stiles protested, “I stand in the hand of someone who once threatened to eat me.”

“Months ago. And I didn’t mean it.”

“Your drooling mouth and sharp teeth said otherwise.”

“Here he goes, dramatizing again.”

Derek raised his hands, effectively putting an end to at least ten full minutes of bickering.

“Stiles, don’t you want to know what’s in the bags?”

Stiles instantly snapped to attention. He jumped from Peter’s hand, landed with a soft thud and tiptoed around a bag, trying to pull it down.

*

“What’s this?”

With Derek’s help, Stiles had managed to free the packages from the bag. The pictures on them showed houses. Small houses. Derek opened the first one and indeed took out a miniature house, big enough for Stiles to stand inside.

“I think that’s the toy shop,” Derek replied.

“Toy shop?”

Stiles peered through the tiny window. He saw shelves full of teddy bears, cars, dolls and puppets; delicate and colorful.

“For the Christmas village.”

“A villa-”

Stiles tore his gaze away from the toy shop and looked back at Derek, who now showed him a waterfall nestled between two hills, with fir trees covered of fake snow and a frozen pond where two figurines skated together. Toy shop forgotten, Stiles narrowed his eyes at the figurines and their painted smiles. He stepped between them carefully, poking the one which represented a man with an ugly sweater. If it were made of fabric, it would be his size.

“They look funny,” Stiles whispered, mostly to himself.

“Do you like it?”

Stiles frowned at the hint of doubt in Derek’s tone.

“Of course! In my previous house, the last owners didn’t have such things. Nothing like these at all,” Stiles added as he brushed his fingers on a plastic tree.

“And you haven’t seen all of it yet,” Peter said. “Wait until they light up.”

“They light up?”

“We’ll turn everything on at the last minute,” Derek decided, “but first we have to build the village. What do you think, Stiles?”

Stiles clapped his hands, rushing from bag to bag and checking all the pieces they had to work with. Two waterfalls, nine or ten houses, a bridge, handfuls of figurines and fir trees, and…

“Oh! A train?” Stiles exclaimed, bouncing up and down.

“My idea,” Peter replied, a breath away from puffing out his chest.

“Hmm. I might forget those eating threats, then…”

The last bag contained a white, thin blanket.

“To create the landscape,” Derek provided.

Stiles considered everything for a moment, thoughts and ideas racing through his mind. Their village had to be perfect. If only he had had time to check the Internet. For sure it would have provided him with some tips. No. Stiles shook his head –this would be _their_ village.

“Okay, I need empty boxes, lots of them, and we’ll put them under the blanket to build hills. But first, let's put the blanket under the Christmas tree, without breaking _anything_.”

The two werewolves exchanged a glance, Derek picked Stiles up to put him on his shoulder and they got to work.

 

*

 

Derek thought moving the tree would be the hardest part, both he and Peter almost getting knocked out at least twice. Laughing didn’t help. Stiles’ sometimes vague instructions didn’t either.

“A bit more backwards. Great, now right. No, right, my right, your left.”

“My foot!”

“Sorry, sorry! But the tree isn’t centered, push it towards the window. Not too hard, Peter!”

Yet, setting up the train and its railway required a lot more effort. In particular when Stiles decided they needed a tunnel and that he would be the one building it, despite Derek’s repeated offers of assistance.

“I don’t want to order you two around all the time. Besides, there’s a very specific way this tunnel should be.”

So Derek just held the cover as Stiles arranged boxes under it, muttering and cursing in Polish, and finally emerging again, hair as tousled as if he and Derek had spent the night together.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you changed to your human size?” Peter asked.

Stiles blushed, sputtered inaudible words and craned his neck to glance at Derek wish a sheepish smile. The werewolf ran his fingertip up and down Stiles’ arm, feeling his cheeks heat up too.

“We mostly do that for special occasions,” Derek explained.

As he hoped, Peter didn’t push further. His smirk was louder than a thousand words though.

After another five minutes of adding more boxes, cutting and maneuvering the blanket, Stiles had his tunnel. Perched on top of it, his head almost hidden by the lowest branches of the Christmas tree, he kept smiling at Derek.

“Now the train. I don’t know much about railways,” Stiles mused.

“Ah, I know someone who spent hours with his miniature train as a kid,” Peter chirped, staring at Derek.

Stiles beamed, jumped on Derek’s lap and hauled himself to his shirt pocket using the buttons –a technique skillfully improved over the last months.

“Teach me everything, Derek.”

Derek hadn’t thought he would enjoy arranging the railway as much as he did when he was little. Peter advised him here and there, like they used to, quiet and focused.

“I believe we’re good,” Derek said, putting batteries in the locomotive. “Let’s try.”

He felt Stiles squirming in his pocket.

“Can I, Derek? Can I?”

“Maybe we should wait until-”

“Of course you can try, Stiles,” Peter spoke, a little too quickly.

Stiles narrowed his eyes, yet Derek knew his enthusiasm and curiosity would get the better of him, just like he knew this was going to become another recurring bone of contention.

“Be careful in the turns,” Derek advised while he settled Stiles on a wagon. “Don’t shift your weight aside too much.”

He could see Stiles barely listened to him. The house spirit squeaked when the train started, gripped the edges of the wagon, legs tightened around it, and giggled as the train picked up speed. He even high-fived Derek’s forefinger when they got close enough, seconds before he disappeared into the tunnel.

Then they heard a sudden, ominous sound breaking the regular rhythm of the wheels, followed by a yelp, and the locomotive reappeared. Alone, without any wagon, and of course, without Stiles. Derek pressed his closed fist against his mouth, breathing in sharply. Even Peter bit his lips to muffle a laugh, glancing away.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Derek asked after clearing his throat.

The Domowoj crawled out of the tunnel on all fours, grinning from ear to ear.

“Can I do it again? Guys, you have no idea how funny it is!”

 

*

 

After the train incident, which wasn’t even a real incident, the rest of the day was rather uneventful in Peter’s opinion.

Except when Stiles got stuck in the miniature flower shop. That was quite a remarkable moment.

Placing each house and figurine around the Christmas tree kept them busy until nightfall, the perfect time to admire their work.

“I’ll take care of this, close your eyes,” Peter ordered.

For once, both Derek and Stiles promptly complied. Peter turned on the houses with the batteries, plugged in the others and stepped back to reach the ceiling light switch.

“Don’t open your eyes until I tell you so.”

Peter switched off the light. The Christmas tree stood out in the darkened room, surrounded by the golden lights of the village.

“Can we look?” Stiles asked.

“Not yet.”

“But why?”

Peter smiled as he looked at them. Derek, sitting cross-legged in front of the tree and Stiles, perched on his shoulder. A miniature carousel –which Stiles had tested several times– cast blue, red, green and yellow lights on their faces as it turned endlessly.

“Just making the most of this moment,” Peter whispered, not sure they heard him. “It’s okay now!”

Stiles squealed with delight. He and Derek grinned at each other, then Stiles gave Derek what Peter liked to call the nose hug, his tiny arms stretched on each side of the werewolf’s nose as if to embrace his whole face. Peter saw Stiles’ lips move but he didn’t eavesdrop. These words weren’t meant for him.

Then Derek lowered Stiles in the middle of their Christmas village and looked at Peter, eyes crinkling with his smile.

“Peter, come! Stiles wants to try the train again!”


End file.
